MATT GALLETTA
GOOD FENCES
I was walking in Queens
and passed by a Dunkin’ Donuts
which, by some accident
of fate
and zoning laws,
was next door to
a strip club.
I looked up at the two
glowing neon signs
hanging next to each other,
one of them advertising
FRESH
ROASTED
COFFEE,
the other,
LIVE
NUDE
GIRLS.
I wondered if
the Dunkin’ Donuts manager
ever complained about the noise
coming from next door,
the pounding dance music
coming through the walls every night.
It reminded me of
a poem from high school
I never bothered to read.
Something about how
good fences
made good neighbors.
But there weren’t any fences
between the strip club
and the donut place,
and I wondered if
the strippers ever stopped by
to order a chocolate frosted
or a croissant or something
before they were scheduled
to be on stage.
And I wondered
if the Dunkin’ Donuts guy behind the counter
ever went next door
for a quick lapdance
while he was on break.
I imagined him sitting there
in the club,
slipping coupons for Free Small Coffee
into G-strings,
the strippers twirling around him.
I imagined one girl
leaning close
and whispering into his ear
in a voice
wet with sex,
telling him
that her shift was over soon
and that she would like
six glazed
and
six jelly.
Then she would pull away from him
and spin off
toward the curtains
and into the darkness
that waited